


How Many Times (Before You Believe It's Real)

by ObliObla



Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [9]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22648789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Five times it wasn't love, and one time it was.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Eve/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Linda Martin & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Lucifer/Original Character(s), Mazikeen/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619344
Comments: 24
Kudos: 188





	How Many Times (Before You Believe It's Real)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9! (a little late but who's counting) Prompt: Oral/69

This is not love, but it’s all either of them has.

Mazikeen tastes of the blood of battle, the sweat of her exertions, the musk of her flesh. He grips her thighs and delves his tongue deep, not teasing, not taking things slow. She is restless where she sits on his shoulders, clawing his scalp, grinding against his face. He nips her inner lips and presses the bridge of his nose harder into her clit. He licks and bites, but still she won’t go over, pulse thick where her skin is thinnest. He diverts course to suck a bruise into the nearly tender flesh of her inner thigh—though even here there are scars and roughness—and she snarls, legs tightening around his head. 

He turns and slams her against the stone wall of his chambers, lowering her slightly in his grip to slip his tongue under her clitoral hood, applying direct pressure to her nerves. She howls in something torn between pleasure and pain, and he slips three fingers past his chin to thrust, hard, into her already rippling walls.

But she still won’t surrender, even as his strokes speed up, and he fastens his lips to her clit to suck. He trails his wet hand down between her cheeks, pressing two fingers to her while his thumb slides into her cunt instead. She clenches around him, and he grins, redoubling his efforts, letting go of her ass in favor of pulling her ankle to one side.

She rides his face, growling and snarling, held up only by a leg over his shoulder and her hands clenched in his hair. Her strength coils within her, waiting to release, but she doesn’t wait for him to toss her over the edge. She dives over it all on her own, hips bucking against his lips and fingers, head smacking into the wall as she groans her pleasure, sagging against him for the barest moment before he drags her down his body.

Only for this will he kneel for her. Only when the sole power offered is the way she clenches around him, the heat of her on his tongue. But this is what she offers, and this is what he’ll gladly take.

This is not love, but desire has never tasted so sweet.

* * *

This is not love, but desire has never tasted so sweet.

Eden’s soft earth is so much kinder than the ash and brimstone and obsidian of Hell, and he discovers he still remembers how to be gentle. His fingertips play at her knees, and she’s already sighing sweetly in a way demons never do, giving up her sounds like they aren’t more precious than iron and adamant and gold.

There is a man here in this garden as well, and the woman has told him she is his mate. But he, it seems, is not hers in return. At least, if her desperation is any indication. The sour look on her face and the bitterness in her voice seem a sign of his—whoever he is—inherent disappointment.

Has this poor creature ever even come?

She cries out when he parts her thighs to kneel between them, ignoring his momentary desire for the greater pleasure of making his Father’s creation writhe and moan under the stars _he_ put in the sky. When he slips his tongue between her inner lips, she keens, and it’s sweeter than birdsong, kinder than any celestial choir. She tastes of the earth and the river and the sea, and nothing like brimstone or ash, but this he will also take. Will press his face between her thighs until he drowns in it.

He should hate this being that trembles under his palms as he holds her hips steady, as he flicks his tongue deep inside and presses the bridge of his nose against her clit. He thought he did hate her— _them—_ thought that they and their primitive ancestors were the reason why He had neglected His children. But he can see clearly now that even these risen apes cannot escape Father’s machinations.

“I’m not allowed!” she gasps, proving his point for him, and he pulls away reluctantly from her heat, feeling her arousal drip from his chin like the juice of the finest fruit.

“But is it what you desire?” He captures her gaze and teases out the complex web of her fear and her shame and her want.

She licks her lips, and he is lost in her undercurrent. _“Yes,”_ she whispers, and he returns, pulling from her orations sweeter than any prayer she might have sent to God.

She chokes on a breath, and her legs kick out, and she shouts and cries and falls over the edge. He slackens his jaw to lap up more of her wetness, and she pushes his head away. He goes willingly, and she dives after him, taking him in hand. He hisses, hips bucking into the contact, but there is a deep sense of resignation on her face, and he takes her wrist and pulls her away.

“But is it what you desire?” he asks again, and she shakes her head reluctantly. The fear is back, and he thinks he understands. He resumes his place between her legs and licks a stripe up her clit, then again, again, until she’s clutching at his hair, staring up at the stars. In this paradise, no pleasures go untainted, but this is purer than most.

This is not love, but they could do far worse.

* * *

This is not love, but they could do far worse.

The tip of his nose rubs steadily over the man’s pelvis as he swallows around him reflexively. This is all so much simpler than the last time he was topside, and he’s more than glad for it. No complications, just the sweet heat of a cock between his lips as his partner groans and cries out wordlessly.

The man tastes of salt and musk and throbs on his tongue, and he redoubles his efforts, teasing him to the brink until he falls over with a shout, a jerk of his hips, and the sweet pulse of desire.

He pulls away and buries his face in another human. This one is quiet, but her desire thrums beneath her skin, and he draws it out with two fingers slid carefully inside. She clenches her teeth and thrashes and grips at his hair, and he moans for it, sucking her clit into his mouth. He flicks at her with his tongue until she gasps, and he crooks his fingers where she’s most sensitive, dragging her over the edge.

Another, and he presses his tongue to a puckered entrance, faster and faster until it relaxes under his mouth. Lube is dispensed onto his hand, and he slips one finger inside, then two, twisting and scissoring them until the human beneath him groans and curses and comes.

Another, and he licks and fingers and flicks and sucks, granting every scrap of pleasure he has to give, finding joy between another’s legs.

Another cock, another cunt, another arse.

Another.

Another.

This is not love, but does he even want it to be?

* * *

This is not love, but does he even want it to be?

He flicks his tongue over the doctor’s clit, and she moans. He presses the pad of his thumb to her entrance, and she keens. He sucks on her lips, and she shouts, drawn into a shallow orgasm he extends with carefully executed licks and kisses. He brings her to another peak with just his lips and mouth and tongue, and she clenches her hands in his hair and cries out.

She is one of the most vocal humans he’s ever known, and he luxuriates in her pleasure as he revels in nearly all humans’ many desires. But there is yet pleasure to be granted, and he redoubles his efforts, drawing from her another peak. Another. 

_“Lucifer…”_ she groans, and he is strangely glad that even at the height of ecstasy she remembers his name. After all, they often don’t.

Afterward, they talk about his problems with intimacy. He jokes about his tongue in her most intimate places, and she sighs and waits until his humor dies. No one has ever been so patient with him. After he denies and hides and diverts, he eventually tells her about a chill in his blood she calls sorrow. A hollowness in his stomach she calls grief. A pain in his jaw she calls fear. A tightness in his chest she calls loneliness.

This is not love, but it’s all he can ask for.

* * *

This is not love, but it’s all he can ask for.

Eve is no longer tentative, no longer filled with uncertainty over her desire. She is demanding, hands in his hair, legs wrapped around his back. She bucks against his face even before he can get his mouth on her, even before glorious heat surrounds his tongue, and he is torn by familiar sensations back into a garden he wished never to think of again.

The sheets are softer than that grass ever was, her skin shining with his penthouse’s lights instead of the stars. He closes his eyes, overwhelmed with the flood of memory as he aligns the bridge of his nose with her clit.

But he has engaged in this act millions of times, and he can fight those recollections even as he licks and fingers and flicks and sucks.

When she comes, her body shakes, and her cries of pleasure fill the room. He carries her through it, tongue flicking, lips tightening, fingers pressing. She pushes his head away, oversensitive, and dives after him, taking him in hand. But all he can think about as she draws him out, as she slips down onto him and sighs, is the resigned way she looked at him in the garden. Is the savor of her on his tongue.

She no longer tastes like the earth and the river and the sea, only like yet another human, nothing between her legs that feels like salvation.

This is not love, but he wants it to be.

* * *

This, though, _this_ is love.

It has been a long day, and the detective wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in his warm, comfortable bed. She lies on her side, head on the pillows, and he rests in the other direction, massaging tension from her weary feet.

“Thank you,” she whispers when he draws away, peppering kisses up her legs and between them. He pulls her closer by the hips, presses a long kiss to her clit, and she moans softly, lifting her thigh up over his shoulder. He angles his chin for her to rock against as he slips his tongue past her inner lips, teasing out her most sensitive places.

She tastes of the earth and the river and the sea, and nothing like brimstone and ash, and he is glad to leave those memories far behind. He presses his face deeper between her thighs, tongue sliding deep, though he has long since drowned in her.

And there he finds something better than salvation.

She surprises him when she crawls forward to take him in hand—a boon freely and easily given, with nothing like resignation in her motions. He moans into her, redoubling his efforts, slipping two fingers past his chin to thrust, hard, into her already rippling walls.

She slips his cock between her lips, and he groans and cries out wordlessly, distracted from his plans by the sweet heat of her mouth. He can only mouth ineffectively at the tender flesh of her inner thigh, but she never seems to mind, simply humming contentedly around him. No one has ever been so patient with him.

He sucks a bruise into her skin as she teases him to the brink. But he holds off, sucking her clit into his mouth. He flicks at her with his tongue until she gasps, and he crooks his fingers where she’s most sensitive.

When she comes, her body shakes, and she whispers his name against his hip. He carries her through it, and she clenches her hands in his hair before resettling them on his cock, dragging him after her with her lips and fingers and tongue.

Afterward, they talk about work and life and plans for a future he finally believes is real. He talks about his problems, and she talks about hers. When she stands on shaky legs, he kneels before her and offers everything he is. And when she dives over that edge all on her own, hips bucking against his lips and fingers, the pleasure of it is pure and untainted.

This is love, and he knows now that he has so much to offer.


End file.
